Consummation

Guided by Argon's insistent hands, Isolde was pushed down gently yet firmly until she knelt before him. A brief moment of hesitation danced in her eyes, but with a swift nod from Argon, she relented. Wordlessly, she began to perform the intimate act of taking him in her mouth, her earlier defiance melting away into acquiescence. Despite the awkwardness and tension of the situation, a silence fell over the room, broken only by the sporadic, muffled sounds of their unspoken agreement being carried out.

Once he was satisfied with the readiness of his member, lubricated by Isolde's actions, Argon signalled for her to stop. His deep voice broke through the room's hush, echoing off the chamber's stone walls. The abrupt end to her actions prompted a slightly bewildered look from Isolde, her chest heaving slightly as she caught her breath. His hands moved to her shoulders, applying a gentle yet unmistakable pressure indicating she should rise.

Argon's anticipation was evident, his excitement barely contained, his breath ragged. With a gentle push, he guided Isolde onto the bed, her body falling gracefully onto the soft furs beneath her. She looked radiant, her beauty heightened by the soft glow of the room's candlelight. Her body was alluring and welcoming, stirring an irresistible desire within him. Guided by his hands and yearning, he positioned himself between her legs, and with a slow yet purposeful move, he entered her, initiating their consummation.

Pounding away at her as she lay on her back, Isolde's hands found their way into Argon's hair, her fingers weaving through the dark strands. From how her body responded to his, she didn't mind this match as much as she had let on. Sure, Argon had forced her hand, but she hadn't resisted as fiercely as one might expect. There was a certain magnetism to his savage brutality, a raw, untamed power that drew her in despite herself. As their bodies moved in concert, the room was filled with an intoxicating mixture of lust and dominance.

Isolde's fingers wrapped tightly around Argon's arms, her nails piercing his skin and drawing thin lines of blood. Rather than dissuading him, the sight of his blood only seemed to fuel his desire. With a quick move, Argon flipped her over, her body bending gracefully beneath him. His eyes took in the sight of her curvaceous bottom, a sight that only seemed to ignite his lust further. Taking a moment to appreciate the view, he plunged back into her, resuming their intimate dance.

Argon's movements grew fiercer, a fervour matching the brutal strength of a Warhammer striking a shield. Isolde was now silent, taking the force of his actions with a resigned acceptance. Argon's hand came down on her rear in a move of instinctual desire, a hard slap that echoed in the room. Her response was to plead, whispering, "Be more gentle." However, his only response was a low growl of defiance, continuing his punishing rhythm unfettered by her plea.

With a relentless rhythm that echoed the beating of war drums, Argon took his time, exploring the depths of his new wife for nearly twenty minutes. Each smack of flesh on flesh was accompanied by Isolde's tightening grip on the furs beneath her. A powerful climax eventually overcame him, a wave of gratification that felt almost divine. As his hot release filled her, he grunted with satisfaction. He had staked his claim, marking her as his, not just by vows but also in the primal way that had existed since immemorial.

Panting heavily from the exertion, Argon couldn't help but sport an ear-to-ear grin. From the squalid slums of Duskhaven to now sharing a bed with a Baron's daughter - it was a trajectory he'd never imagined.

Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, Isolde curled up against Argon as he reclined. "Alright, big shot," she murmured, a subtle note of amusement in her voice. "You've got what you wanted. I'll try to convince my father about us getting married. It shouldn't be too hard; your standing has increased significantly."

Argon glanced at her, his grin unfading. "Yes, it has. And it's only the beginning."

Still nestled in the crook of Argon's arm, Isolde took a moment to find her words, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "But Argon," she began, her voice soft yet stern. "You have to understand. If we're to be wed, I expect certain things from you."

Argon, his interest piqued, looked at her and prompted her to continue. "Go on," he said.

Isolde shifted to meet his gaze, her blue eyes searching his. "I want respect, Argon. I'm not just some wench you picked up in a tavern; I'm the daughter of a Baron, your future wife. You'll need to treat me as such. You may command armies, but in our home, we'll stand as equals."

She paused for a breath, her eyes holding his captive. "And, despite your... appetites, I expect fidelity. There will be no others, not when we're wed. I won't tolerate being made a fool."

Finally, she let out a sigh, her gaze softening. "I know you, Argon. You're ambitious, ruthless, relentless... but with me, I want you to be... different."

Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a plea intertwined. Argon regarded her silently, taking in her words, the seriousness of her tone indicating that these were not mere suggestions but expectations she had set for him.

Argon caressed her cheek gently with a small smile, his touch surprisingly tender for such a fierce warrior. "Isolde," he started, his voice soft. "As my wife, I promise you will want for nothing. I'll move mountains if that's what it takes. I will give you the world, if you desire it."

His expression turned serious again, his eyes meeting hers. "And as for fidelity...," he began, considering his words carefully, "I can promise you, there will be no other women in my life, publicly. As the wife of a powerful man, you will never be humiliated or shamed."

He paused, his gaze unyielding. "But privately...," he added, "I am a man of certain... needs. I won't parade them before you, but neither can I deny them. It is a part of who I am."

His declaration hung in the air, his eyes never leaving hers, waiting for her reaction. He had been as honest as he could be with her, and he hoped that would be enough for now. His actions would speak louder than his words; he hoped she would see that in time.

Isolde nodded slowly, considering his words. There was a long silence before she spoke. "I think I can live with that, Argon," she said, her voice firm. "It's a reasonable arrangement, all things considered. But remember, I am not just any woman. I will not be disregarded or treated as less."

Argon listened to her words, his gaze steady. "I wouldn't want you any other way, Isolde," he replied, the honesty in his voice clear. "I have no desire for a docile wife. I need a woman of strength and intelligence. I believe you are that woman."

A sense of relief washed over Argon as he heard Isolde's response. He was not accustomed to making promises, much less promises he intended to keep. But there was something about Isolde, something that made him want to strive to be a better man.

"Well then," Argon began, his eyes softening at her words, "That's a relief. I had worried you might try to make a monk of me."

Isolde chuckled softly, her laughter a sweet sound to Argon's ears. "Don't worry, I wouldn't wish that on any monastery. But I have my own conditions."

Argon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what might those be?"

"Firstly," she started, her gaze meeting his, "Our children will be raised with respect and care. They will receive the best education."

Argon nodded, seeing the determination in her eyes. It wasn't an unreasonable request. "I can agree to that."

"And secondly," Isolde continued, her eyes not leaving him, "I will not be kept in the dark. I want to be involved in the decisions that affect our family, holdings, and power. I will not be a silent partner."

Argon considered her words carefully. He was not used to sharing power, but Isolde was no ordinary woman. She was strong, intelligent, and she would be his wife.

"Fair enough," Argon agreed.

With a pensive expression, Argon gently probed, "Isolde since we are paired now I need infomation, enlighten me about medium grade artefacts. What do you know?"

Caught off-guard by his question, Isolde quickly regained composure and began to explain, "Medium grade artefacts, distinguished by a red glow, have a variety of potent capabilities. They are considerably rarer than the low-grade ones, often held by prominent families or influential individuals due to their distinct abilities."

She continued, "These artefacts can greatly augment one's strength, making their attacks much more formidable. They can also enhance speed, reflexes, and agility to an extraordinary level, granting a significant advantage in battles. Some are even capable of elemental manipulation, allowing the user to command elemental forces like fire, ice, wind, or electricity."

Isolde paused before adding, "Moreover, some medium-grade artefacts are capable of accelerating the healing process, aiding in swift recovery from injuries. There are even those that allow the casting of limited illusions for strategic purposes, or to confuse opponents."

Sensing Argon's rapt attention, she added one last piece of information, "Interestingly, there are even artefacts that are rumored to double one's lifespan, a truly invaluable boon. However, these are extremely rare and highly sought after."

Argon leaned forward, intrigued. "And their handling? How does one control such potent objects?"

Isolde nodded, understanding the gravity of his question, "Controlling medium grade artefacts requires considerable mental strength and willpower. The power within them can easily overwhelm those who are weak-minded, leading to uncontrollable, often disastrous outcomes. It's not unheard of for individuals to lose their lives due to mishandling these artefacts. Extreme caution and control are imperative."

As Isolde finished her explanation, Argon found himself contemplating deeply. The power of medium-grade artefacts was tantalizing, but the risks demanded respect. His path forward was clear - he needed to tread carefully, with absolute control and a clear mind.

"Does Eldrige posses one?"

Isolde's laughter rang out in the room at Argon's question. "My father possessing a medium-grade artefact?" she giggled, shaking her head at the ludicrousness of the idea. "Argon, my dear, you must understand something. Medium-grade artefacts are not child's play. They are not for lowly barons, let alone for the likes of us. Only the most high-ranking of nobles - High Lords, Dukes, Marquises, and Earls - can even think about touching those things. The rest of us, we aren't even allowed to entertain such thoughts."

"And what if someone... acquires one?" Argon asked, his voice carrying a note of insistence.

"Well, they'd better not get too attached to it," Isolde replied, her blue eyes glinting with amusement. "It'll be taken away just as quickly as it was found. High-ranking nobles would be sent to retrieve it at any expense. You see, the balance of power is very carefully maintained in our world. And something as powerful as a medium-grade artefact? It could disrupt that balance quite significantly."